Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by Halcris
Summary: Just as Doyle was due to report back to duty he goes missing. Why?


**Out of sight, Out of mind ?**

Although it was a cold winter's morning, Doyle smiled to himself as he rose, showered and dressed. He was looking forward to what he planned to do today.

He had just recovered from a bout of a nasty 'flu-like virus which had knocked him sideways for a while. He was well over it now, but the doctor had insisted on a few more days rest, before he would sign him back as fit for duty.

So Doyle had decided to do something he'd been wanting to do for ages. He was going into Wales, to pay a visit to the Parry's, the lovely couple who had been so much help to him and his partner, Bodie, when they were in dire trouble, over six months ago now. ( See Cold Comfort.)

He made himself breakfast. Then he carefully locked up his flat, and made his way down to his car, carrying the gift he had bought for the Parry's. He had pondered long over this, and as it was now late November, he had finally decided on a Christmas hamper, a sensible one with very usable, if slightly luxurious, items. He would also make one stop on his journey, to pick up the special bouquet he had ordered for Sarah.

He made good time, and was pleased to see some wintry sunshine, as he drove over the Severn Bridge into Wales.

Sarah Parry was busy washing up the coffee mugs after her husband, Euan, had been in for his mid-morning break. He was sitting by the big table, putting his sturdy boots back on, before going out again to tend to his stock. Sarah looked up as she heard a car coming down their lane, and pulling into the yard in front of the big farmhouse.

"You're not expecting anyone, are you ?," she asked. He shook his head. She dried her hands, made her way to the door, and opened it. She didn't know the car. None of their friends had anything as modern and smart as that.

A figure climbed out and came towards her.

"Mr. Doyle," she exclaimed as she recognised him.

"Oh, come, it was Ray, last time I saw you." said Doyle, handing her the flowers, and leaning forward to plant a friendly kiss on her cheek.

She smiled back at him then.

"Of course. Do come in," she said, as she led him back into her cosy kitchen. "Euan, look who's here !."

The big bluff farmer, though, as usual, a man of few words, did seem pleased to see him. Sarah asked after Bodie.

"He's fine now," said Doyle, "He recovered very well, thanks to your splendid help, Sarah. And, you'll be glad to hear, we dealt with those responsible."

He fetched the hamper in from the car and gave it to them, in spite of their protestations. Together they examined and exclaimed over the contents, and thanked him for it, saying they would enjoy it over Christmas.

Doyle spent a very pleasant day with the pair of them, and enjoyed a lunch of some more of Sarah's tasty soup and home-made bread.

Later they found him some boots and a heavier coat, and he went out for a tour of the farm with Euan, who pointed out to him some of the lambs he had seen born, now sturdy and strong, grazing in the lower fields. He wondered about the one he had tended and fed, but there was no way to pick it out from the others, though Sarah had told him it had survived well.

They returned to the warmth of the big farm-house kitchen, where Sarah had been preparing dinner. It was a splendid meal, as usual, and sitting over it caused Doyle to delay setting out for home a little longer than he had intended.

By the time he got back on the road again, it was turning into a rather nasty unpleasant night. It was raining heavily and the wind was getting up. Really horrible driving conditions ! He almost regretted not accepting Sarah's invitation to stay the night as it was so wild. But Doyle had reluctantly refused, as he had an early afternoon appointment with the doctor to be signed back on duty.

Still I can take it slowly, he thought, as there's no early morning start to rush back for.

He pressed on steadily but carefully. There was little other traffic on the road, which was just as well, for every passing vehicle sent up a spray of surface water. The windscreen wipers were already struggling to cope with the torrential rain, so he kept his speed down, and his concentration up.

He'd only been travelling a short while, hadn't even reached the Severn Bridge, when it all went wrong.

He'd just entered a section of road with thick woods on either side. He could just see, through the driving rain, some of the branches waving wildly in the fierce wind. There will be trees down before this night's out, he thought.

He swung gently round a bend, and came to a sudden halt, as red rear lights loomed up at him. There in front of him, was a big black car, slewed sideways, with a large tree across its bonnet.

Re-acting instantly, he turned off the ignition, climbed out, and hurried over to see if he could help the driver, who appeared to be alone in the vehicle. He pulled open the heavy door. The front wind-screen had been smashed to bits, whether by the tree branches, or the driver's head hitting it, he couldn't tell at this stage.

The driver, a man, was unconscious, and bleeding from several minor cuts. He leant forward to feel for a pulse. It was then that something totally unexpected happened !

A heavy blow from something solid struck the back of his head. He pitched forward, striking his forehead on the steering-wheel, and collapsed on top of the driver.

He was totally oblivious to what happened next. Rough hands pushed the injured driver over into the passenger seat, and manoeuvred Doyle's limp body into the driving position, putting his hands onto the wheel. Then the door was slammed shut and, in the wind and wet, three men scuttled over to Doyle's car and climbed in. Moments later it swept past the disabled tree-stricken black car, and roared away into the dark night.

It had all happened very quickly. Who were these men, who had so badly treated someone who had hurried to offer help in an emergency ?

Truth is, they were a nasty gang of villains, who had just pulled off a very successful raid on a bank in Cardiff. It had been a well-planned action. They had gone in just as the manager had moved to close the doors after the afternoon's business. One of them had quickly closed the big doors, so that everything looked normal, while the others had moved in to make sure that none of the few staff still on the premises had a chance to raise the alarm. Using fierce threats and actual physical abuse, they had got everything opened up for them, and had stashed away a tidy sum of money into the bags they were carrying. Cleverly, they had waited till it got dark, before letting their driver slip out to bring the car round to the front door. Then having left all the shaken staff members securely bound and gagged, they had set off into the dark night, on the way to their base in London.

What they hadn't planned for, was the wildness of the night. They had been well on their way, when disaster struck. The heavy tree had come down without warning, immobilising the car and injuring the driver.

What could they do now ? It was certain that before long there would be police on their trail. They had thought to be well away before they tried to catch up with them.

Then the solution had come, in the form of the other driver on the road. They had hidden in the bushes, as they watched him stop, and hurry forward to help. It had only taken a moment to deal with him, and a few more to pile their bags of loot into the boot of his car and set off.

The leader of the gang had no qualms about leaving the injured member of his gang. If he were caught by the police, he wouldn't tell them anything, his men were loyal. It was in their interests to be so. Besides there was little he could tell them. He could identify the other members of the gang, but they were already well known to the London police anyway. And the place he had chosen for them all to lie low this time, was only known to himself at the moment.

In the back of the speeding car, Pat Evans fidgeted in his seat. He was trying to do something without attracting attention. Having started his criminal career as a skilful pick-pocket, he had been unable to resist lifting the man's wallet, as they had bundled him into the car. He was sure nobody had noticed as he had slipped it into his own pocket. Now, with his slim agile fingers, he was carefully endeavouring to abstract the paper money from it without anyone realising. At last he managed it. Then he pretended to be caught with a bout of coughing. Under its cover, he managed to shove the wallet down the back of his seat.

Meanwhile what had been happening in Cardiff ? One of the tied-up clerks had been working surreptitiously on the ropes that bound him. He had almost worked himself free, but as he was nowhere near the alarm button, he hadn't dared to make a move. He had kept very still and quiet, as the gang waited for the cover of darkness before making their getaway. But as soon as they had gone, he gave a final few stretches and wriggles and was free. He first dashed to the alarm button that connected to the police station, and pressed it firmly. Then he set about freeing the rest of the staff.

The police came swiftly, and began asking a great many questions. Naturally, they wanted every detail of what had happened. Anything they could remember. What had they seen ? What had they heard ?

A young constable, taking a statement from a scared female cashier, heard something he thought was important. He quickly hurried her over to his Inspector.

"Sir," he said eagerly, "Miss Fielding has something that may be of help."

The officer turned to listen to the girl, and smiled encouragingly.

"I heard them talking," she began, "One of them called the gang leader Nick."

"Ah," exclaimed the inspector, really intent now. "That confirms what I suspected. We've had warnings about a gang led by one, Nick Harper. What exactly did he say, Miss Fielding. ?"

"He asked him how long it would take to get to London," she said. He thanked her for her help, and returned to his office where he called together a meeting of his senior officers.

"I think we're dealing with a well-known London gang," he said. "I've had information in about them. It seems that they have taken to mounting raids well away from home. There's an on-going case in Maidstone which has all the hall-marks of their methods. Last week I had a warning that Harper, the leader, had been spotted in Swansea. They lost track of him, but nothing happened there. It looks as if he came on to us instead. Some pictures have just come through. I'll get them displayed and copied. You can show them to the people at the bank."

In the middle of the next morning, a young constable reported back on duty. As he came in to see what his next task was, his eyes lit upon the display of pictures on the notice-board, and he quickly took a closer look. Then excited by what he had noticed, he hurried to speak to his sergeant, who immediately rushed him along the corridor to tap on the inspector's door.

"What is it, constable ?," the inspector asked a little impatiently." He was very busy. Such an important case rarely landed on his desk. This gang had got away with a large amount of money.

The young constable had had a moment to get his thoughts clear. "Sir," he replied, "Last night I was on 'accident patrol'. We were only called out to one, on the main road back towards London. A big black car that was hit by a falling tree. Both the men in it had head injuries and were taken to the hospital. I went there to take a statement, but the doctor said they were both unconscious and unlikely to come round soon. He said I should go back today."

"Well, do that," snapped the inspector, a bit annoyed at being interrupted by what should have been a routine procedure.

"But, sir," went on the constable, "As I came in, I saw the pictures of that gang on the board, and one of them is one of the men hurt in the accident."

"Are you sure ?," exclaimed the inspector, giving the matter his full attention now.

"Yes, sir," replied the young man, and pointed to copies of the pictures up on the wall. "It was that one, sir. I'm absolutely positive."

The inspector got quickly to his feet, and grabbed his hat from the shelf. "Which hospital ?," he demanded. "Let's go there now."

The two police officers were quickly admitted and shown to a small side ward. A doctor stood at the foot of one of the two beds, studying a clipboard of observation details. He was instantly helpful.

"Yes, these are the accident victims," he confirmed. He pointed to the other curtained-off bed. "That one's just come round. Nurse is tending to him. He's not too bad. A bit of rest and he'll be all right."

He looked again at his other patient."This one's not so good. He's taken a couple of nasty blows to the head. He's almost sure to have concussion, and we won't know till he wakes what effect that has had."

The two policemen looked at the patient, lying very still and pale, with a large bandage circling his curly-haired head. He wasn't in any of the pictures they had been sent.

"Hm, a new member, maybe," speculated the inspector.

Having finished her tasks, the nurse pulled back the curtain to reveal the other patient, sitting up in the bed. He too was sporting a white bandage, and his face showed signs of slight cuts, but he was awake.

The inspector looked quickly at the man, and consulted the folder he had brought with him. A pleased expression came over his face. Yes, the young constable had been right - this was definitely Jim Morton, one of Harper's gang.

He turned to his junior now, and issued a quick order. "Go down to the car," he said. "Get onto the desk sergeant and tell him we need a rota of men on this door, until these two are fit to be moved to the station."

The young constable hurried off, pleased to have been proved right.

The inspector moved towards the second bed. "Well, we know who you are, Morton," he said grimly. He pointed to the other bed.

"What's his name ?," he demanded.

Morton was just about to blurt out that he didn't know, when he thought fast and stopped himself. He had no idea who the man was, but he guessed rightly that he was some hapless motorist that Harper and the others had stopped in order to steal his car. He obviously hadn't any identification on him, or they would have known his name. Why should he help the police, he thought.? Let them waste their time and resources trying to find out about someone they evidently thought was one of the gang. It might keep them off his back for a bit.

"I'm not going to 'grass' on him," he said defiantly. "Find out for yourselves." And in spite of all the inspector's efforts he wouldn't answer any of his questions, just saying 'no comment' to everything.

Exasperated, the inspector turned back to the other bed. The nurse was there beside it, holding a slim wrist as she counted the pulse. As she put the hand down, she glanced at her patient's pale face, and saw his eyelids flickering.

"Dr, Gordon," she exclaimed quickly, "He's coming round."

Both the doctor and the inspector hurried nearer as a pair of eyes opened slowly, and a puzzled expression crept over the man's face.

"If you're going to say 'Where am I ?'," said the doctor in a friendly tone, "You're in hospital in Cardiff. A tree came down on your car in the storm."

The inspector was not as friendly. He'd already made up his mind that this was another member of the Harper gang.

"Your name ?," he demanded brusquely.

The man made as if to answer, and then a look almost of panic came over his face.

"I don't know," he said. "I can't remember."

The doctor was quick to lay a soothing hand on the man's shoulder. "Don't get upset, young man," he said. "I quite expected this. You've got concussion from a nasty blow on the head, and it's caused amnesia. But it will pass, I promise you. Just relax and rest." The man nodded and closed his eyes wearily.

The inspector laid his hand on the doctor's arm and drew him back a few paces. "Is this genuine ?," he demanded. "Could he be faking it ?."

"I don't think so," replied the doctor indignantly. "I've seen too many cases like this."

"Can you do something about it ?," asked the inspector. "I need to know who he is."

"There's nothing I can do," replied the doctor, somewhat annoyed by the man's attitude. "If he's allowed to rest quietly, and not hassled, it will improve. It could clear quickly, or it may take some days."

The inspector was not happy with the situation, but he sensed that the doctor was not going to allow him to question his patient further.

"How long before they can be moved ?," he asked. "I need to have them back at the police station. It's a matter of security."

"They'll both need a couple of days rest," the doctor insisted. He was beginning to resent the inspector's manner, and would assert his own authority.

The inspector had to be content with that, and after speaking to the constable now on duty, warning him to keep a very close eye on both men, he departed.

The doctor went back to his patient. As he neared the bed, the eyes opened again. So he drew up a chair and sat down to try to re-assure his patient.

"Now, young man," he began, "You're not to worry about this. I know it must be a bit scary not to know who you are, but it will be all right, I promise you. I've seen so many cases. You'll find if you rest and don't try too hard to remember, it will come back to you. Sometimes it happens in short flashes of memory, which gradually increase, and sometimes it can all come back at once overnight. You just have to be patient."

"Thank you, doctor," said the man, looking much calmer.

"Now, nurse will make you comfortable," said the doctor, "and I suggest you sleep. That's the best thing for you."

And he went off about his other duties, thinking to himself that it was a pity such a seemingly nice young man was a criminal.

Bodie had just finished his report on his day's enquiries, and was about to leave, when he heard Cowley bellowing his name. He hurried along the corridor, and followed his boss back into his office.

"Have you heard from Doyle ?," Cowley demanded.

"No," replied Bodie, a bit surprised. "I'm expecting him back tomorrow. He was seeing the doctor this afternoon."

"That's just it," snapped Cowley. "He didn't keep the appointment."

"That's not like him," said Bodie. "I saw him a couple of days ago, and he was looking forward to being cleared, and back on duty."

"Well, he didn't show up this afternoon," said Cowley. "There's no reply from his flat either."

"How very odd," commented Bodie. "Shall I call round there now ?"

"Yes," replied his boss, and gave him the spare key that he kept.

Bodie shot off immediately, and entered his mate's flat. Everything was neat and tidy as usual, and all seemed in order. There was no sign that anything untoward had happened. He called into the office. The phone was working all right too.

"There's no sign of any problem here," he reported. "What about his car, sir ? It's not here."

"I've just put out an A.P.B. on that," replied Cowley. "Well, report at once if he contacts you."

And he rang off. Bodie knew very well that his boss's rather brusque manner was only to hide his concern, a concern which was beginning to worry him too. As he locked up, returned to his car and went home, he thought about it.

This was so unlike his partner. When he'd seen him a few days ago, he'd seemed completely recovered, and totally confident that the doctor would give him the 'all clear', so that they could be back together, to work as a team, which suited them both so well.

He spent most of the evening on the phone, trying all of their mutual friends, with no success. He tried Doyle's number at his flat several times, but although he was sure it was ringing, there was no response at all.

He went into work in the morning in a very sombre mood. He went straight to Cowley's office to ask, only to be told that there was no news of any kind. The various normal checks, to the police and to hospitals had all been answered in the negative.

Reluctantly, he went out on a stake-out with Jax, keeping an eye on a suspect warehouse, but his mind wasn't really on the job as it should have been. What had happened ? Where had his mate got to this time ?

Halfway through the afternoon, his phone rang. He answered it quickly. It was his boss, Cowley, but what he had to report was not good.

"Doyle's car has been found," he said. "Parked in Lawton Street in Hounslow. You and Jax pack up the stake-out and get over there. Have a look at it 'in situ', and then have it brought in for forensics to examine."

Bodie and Jax moved with the utmost speed, and were soon in the area. Doyle's car was neatly parked and showed no signs of damage. The forensic team were already there, so Bodie left them in charge of it, and, with Jax, started making a few house-to-house enquiries. Had anyone seen the driver ? When had it been left ? They didn't get anywhere. Harper had been clever. He had got one of his gang to leave the car early in the morning, well away from the place where they had 'gone to ground', and to come back by public transport.

They returned to Cowley with little to report. Then a call came through. Cowley listened intently, put the phone down, and turned to the other two.

"They found Doyle's wallet stuffed down the back seat," he said. "His I.D. is there, but no money."

"Sounds as if he could have been 'mugged'." volunteered Jax.

"I can't see any reason why he'd hide it himself," agreed Bodie.

"Forensics are trying to make something of the fingerprints on it," said their boss, "but they are not hopeful. They are very smudged."

Bodie entered Cowley's office early next morning, to find his boss studying a folder with a scowl on his face. He waved a piece of paper angrily.

"It's that Harper gang," he exclaimed. "Another raid."

"They're already wanted for that one over in Maidstone, aren't they ?," asked Bodie. "Where this time, sir ?."

"Cardiff," replied Cowley. "But at least they caught a couple of them this time."

"How ?," asked Bodie curiously.

"Apparently they were injured when a tree came down on their car in the storm. The rest of the gang evidently cleared off with the money and left them. They are in police custody now." He put the paper back in the folder.

"But," he said, picking up another paper off the pile on his desk, "Forensics have managed something. They matched a partial print on the wallet. It belongs to one, Pat Evans. He's had a lot of convictions as a pick-pocket, though nothing very recent." He turned to the listening Bodie.

"Take any help you need," he said, "and find this Pat Evans."

Bodie shot off quickly, glad of something positive to do. He got several other operatives chasing up their 'snouts', and went in search of his own favourite sources of information. But although searches went on all day in many parts of London, Pat Evans wasn't found.

Later in the afternoon, Bodie came back, disconsolately, to report to Cowley. "We couldn't find Evans anywhere," he said. "All we got was a rumour that he's now one of Harper's gang."

"No wonder he's hard to find, then," said Cowley. "We've been trying to find where Harper hides out for ages. He seems to alter their hideaway after each raid. And although lots of our sources know plenty about him, they can never tell us where to find them."

Bodie went home in a far from happy mood. It was very worrying that they'd heard nothing from Doyle all this time. He couldn't raise the energy to have a night out with any of his many lady-friends, but sat alone in his flat, with just his favourite music for company.

It was half-way through the evening when the idea suddenly came to him. In a flash he was on the phone seeking Cowley.

As he was at a meeting, Cowley was none too pleased at being disturbed, but he did come to the phone, as Bodie's message had insisted it was important.

"Well, what is it ?," he said crossly.

"Sir, you know you said no-one could tell us where to find Harper's hideout," he began, "But I've just realised there is someone who can."

"What do you mean ?," snapped Cowley, "Who ?."

"The two men in custody in Cardiff," replied Bodie. "If they were involved in the raid, and were on their way back to London, they would know where Harper had planned for them to hide out this time."

"Well done, Bodie !," exclaimed Cowley. "I never thought of them."

"They might need some persuading," said Bodie, "But we could try."

"We've overcome reluctance before," said Cowley grimly. "Be ready early tomorrow, Bodie. We'll have ourselves a little trip into Wales."

Meanwhile, what was happening in Cardiff ?

Dr. Gordon had held out as long as he could, insisting on the two days rest he had prescribed. The constant police presence was very annoying, and, he felt, unnecessarily stressful for his patients. But eventually he had had to give in, and allow the two men to be taken into custody.

He wasn't concerned about the one called Morton. He didn't have concussion, and his minor cuts and scratches were healing fast. But he was worried about the other one. The man had been totally co-operative, resting quietly as instructed, but so far there was no sign of his amnesia clearing.

One by one the two men were escorted away to be put in cells at the police station. And then the questioning began in earnest. Individually they were brought up to briefing-rooms, and interrogated by the inspector or one of his senior officers.

Jim Morton took it all in his stride, maintaining his obstinate attitude of not replying to anything.

But it was quite evident that the other one hated these sessions, and was getting more and more stressed out by them. He still maintained that he couldn't remember anything. The inspector, for one, didn't believe him. He was convinced in his own mind that the man was faking, and he was sure that if they kept on questioning him, he would eventually break.

Left alone in the barren cell at night, the man struggled desperately to recall something. The doctor had assured him that his memory would come back, but it was days now, and it wasn't happening.

The strongest feeling was growing in him that he wasn't a criminal, and shouldn't be in a cell at all. So the confinement was causing him stress, as well as the constant questioning.

And then one evening, as he tried to get comfortable on the hard bed, something did happen.

He suddenly had the image in his mind of a man, a tall dark-haired man with a quirky smile. He knew him ! He was sure he knew him, but struggle as he might, he couldn't put a name to the image. It was very frustrating !

But a little glimmer of hope had returned to him. Surely this glimpse meant that his memory was starting slowly to come back. Maybe he'd wake in the morning to find it completely restored. The doctor had said it sometimes happened like that.

But when morning came, and he woke to find things were just the same, that hope was extinguished, and a sense of despair began to creep in. So when a constable came to fetch him again, he felt too low and weary to bother to stand up.

"Come on, you," said the constable, grabbing his arm and pulling him to his feet, "Special day today. We've got some 'big guns' down from London to talk to you."

Well, he thought morosely, they won't get any more than the others have, will they ?

So he went with the constable, up the stairs towards the usual briefing room, not looking forward to a further barrage of questions he couldn't answer.

And then he saw him !

A few yards further down the corridor, was the man whose image had entered his mind last night, - tall, dark-haired, though the quirky smile wasn't there.

And he knew him ! This time he knew his name. He let out a shout that echoed down the narrow corridor.

"Bodie !," he called. And then the sudden inrush, as his mind cleared and his memory flooded back, was too much for his already stressed state. With a slight moan, he passed out, and folded limply to the ground. Only the instinctive clutch of the accompanying constable broke his fall slightly, and stopped him from hitting the concrete floor too hard.

Bodie heard the shout and swung round. He caught the merest glimpse of the falling figure. But that glimpse was enough. He raced along the few yards that separated them, and knelt beside the prone form. Gently he rolled him over, barely able to believe what he was seeing.

"Ray," he murmured, reaching out to brush the man's over-long dark curls out of his eyes, revealing the large now-fading bruise.

The man began to stir, recovering from his faint. Bodie slipped an arm under his shoulders, and lifted him up to lean against him.

The eyes opened again and gazed at him. n"Bodie," he whispered, hardly daring to believe it. "It is you."

Cowley, disturbed by Bodie's sudden departure, hurried to join the group and was also astounded by what he saw.

"Doyle," he exclaimed in disbelief. "How on earth…..?"

The inspector had rushed after his distinguished visitor, and saw his surprised re-action. "Do you know this man, Sir ?," he asked.

"Yes, I know him," snapped Cowley. "He's one of my men, who has been missing for days."

Bodie had been carefully helping his mate back onto his feet. He kept a firm arm round him, as he seemed very shaken.

"We need somewhere quiet to talk," he said, looking towards Cowley and the inspector.

"Indeed we do," replied his boss. "A lot of explanation is needed."

The bewildered inspector ushered them all along past the briefing rooms to the rest room. It had a table and more comfortable chairs. Bodie eased his partner into one of them, drew another up beside him, and laid a re-assuring hand on his mate's arm. Some instinct told him that his partner needed this comforting contact for a while, but he was glad to see that he was calming down steadily.

The inspector busied himself with the coffee-making equipment. He was feeling a bit guilty about his treatment of the man, disbelieving in his amnesia. Also he was very much in awe of Cowley and C.I.5. Their reputation was well known, even this far from London.

Cowley seated himself at the table facing Doyle. "Now, laddie," he said gently. "Tell us your story."

He had seen how shaken and shocked his man had been when his memory first returned. But he had seen this often during his army service, and knew it would quickly pass. So his next words were quiet and calming.

"Take it slowly," he said. "There's no rush. We've got all day."

So Doyle related what had happened to him, telling of his visit to the Parry's, and of how the weather had been so wild as he set out for home. He explained how he'd come upon the damaged car, had gone to try to help, only to be attacked. He told about waking up in hospital, and the panic of not knowing who he was, and the stress of the long wait for his memory to return.

He described getting the image of Bodie, and how actually seeing him had triggered it all off, and brought him back to himself again.

Cowley listened intently, as Bodie gently pressed his fingers on his friend's arm to re-assure him.

"You've had a bad experience, Doyle," he said at last. "But it's over now, so try to put it behind you." He drank some more of his coffee, and then went on.

"Now, I'll tell you our story, how we came to be here." And he explained about finding the car and the wallet, and their failure to locate Pat Evans.

"Bodie had the idea that we might find an answer to that here," he finished.

"But we did better than that," said Bodie happily. "We found you, mate." He grinned at his partner, and was relieved as he saw the easily returned smile. Doyle seemed almost himself again.

"There's still Jim Morton," put in the inspector. He was staggered by all he'd just heard.

"Yes," said Cowley. "I'll have a word with him now, please."

"Hadn't we better get your man cleared and discharged first ?," suggested the inspector, desperately anxious to make amends, and to placate this powerful man. "I'll get the desk sergeant onto it at once."

"All right," agreed Cowley. "Bodie, you go with Doyle and see to that. Then join me when it's done."

Joe Morton, seated at the table in the interview room, watched warily as his new inquisitor entered the room. He knew Cowley by sight and by reputation, though he'd never actually encountered him before. He knew he couldn't get away with anything with him, but he resolved to be very cautious answering his questions.

Cowley sat down and fixed Morton with a hard stare, but his first words were quite calm and mild. "Why didn't you say that Doyle wasn't one of your gang ?," he asked.

"I didn't know who he was," he replied. "And it seemed he didn't have any identification on him. I guessed he was some passing motorist, who'd been stopped so they could steal his car. I thought that as soon as he woke up, he would explain all that to the police. When it was found he had amnesia, I reckoned it would be fun to let the police do all the hard work to find out who he was."

His eyes widened slightly as the door opened and Bodie and Doyle came in quietly and took seats at the back of the room.

"Is he all right now ?," he asked. Cowley nodded. "Well, I am glad about that," said Morton. "It must have been scary for him."

Cowley tried a different line. "Do you know a Pat Evans ?," he demanded. Morton quickly hid the surprise the question had given him.

"I know of him," he replied cagily. "A rather stupid little 'dipper'. Lots of convictions for that."

"But not recently," Cowley snapped back. "We've heard rumours he's one of your gang now."

"Have you ?," replied Morton, non-committedly. Then curiosity overcame his caution. "What do you want with him ?."

Cowley told him. "We found his prints on Doyle's wallet, in Doyle's car," he said. This startled Morton into an out-burst.

"Stupid fool," he snarled. "Up to his old tricks again. Nick'll kill him ! When he took him on, because of his clever fingers, he warned him there was to be no more thieving." Then he realised he'd let something slip, and tried to clam up again.

"Why ask me about him ?," he said, trying to avoid Cowley's steely gaze.

"We thought you might tell us where to find him," Cowley said mildly.

"Me ? No," declared Morton uneasily. "How should I know. ?."

"Because you were driving the getaway car, after the bank raid in Cardiff," said Cowley. Morton said nothing, only scowled.

Cowley tried a different tack. "They abandoned you," he said. "Left you injured and alone."

"Oh, no," Morton interrupted him, "You won't get me that way. I trust Nick. He and I go back a long way. He'll see me right eventually."

Morton was an old hand. He knew the police would have a job to prove a case against him, and they couldn't keep him on remand for ever.

"You were driving the car," persisted Cowley. "So you know where you were going. You knew where Harper was planning to hide out this time !"

"That's where you're wrong," exclaimed Morton, thinking he had got one over on this clever man. "I don't know ! Nick loves planning things in detail, and keeping them to himself. He arranges a new hideout after every raid, but doesn't tell us where we are going till the last minute. He'd wait till we reached the outskirts of London, before he'd give us final directions. So," he added with an air of triumph, "I don't know, because I never got that far, did I ?."

Then he suddenly realised he'd made an admission of guilt, of being involved in the latest raid, and he clapped his hand over his mouth. "I'm saying nothing more," he snarled, and he was true to his word. He reverted to answering 'no comment' to every further question.

Cowley was shrewd enough to realise he'd got all he was going to get, so he called a halt to proceedings. He asked for his car to be re-fuelled and brought round, and prepared to leave.

He turned to the inspector. "I'll leave Morton to you for the present," he said. "But we may contact you again, soon."

Cowley told Bodie to drive, and sat in the back with Doyle. He eyed his man thoughtfully. He was still pale and a little subdued but seemed to be in control of himself again.

Bodie interrupted his musing. "Please sir," he said, "can we stop somewhere to get something to eat ? I'm hungry."

"You're always hungry," said his boss, reprovingly.

"Well, I've a lot to keep up," protested Bodie.

Cowley turned to Doyle with a questioning look.

"I would appreciate something," said Doyle, "I didn't eat much breakfast."

Cowley refused to stop at a 'greasy spoon', mostly frequented by long-distance lorry drivers, but did find a more suitable place a bit further on, and was pleased to see Doyle demolish a couple of sandwiches with enthusiasm, and down a coffee.

Later, back in the car, he continued with his plan. He'd decided that the best way to help, was to get Doyle talking of pleasant memories, hoping that would cancel out the bad ones. So he asked him about his visit to the Parry's.

To his satisfaction, Doyle became quite animated, telling them how much he'd enjoyed his visit. "We went out to look at the sheep," he was saying. "When we were there last, I helped look after one, and fed it with a bottle, like a baby. Sarah said it survived, but I couldn't pick it out."

This actually made Cowley laugh. "I'm not surprised," he said, "One sheep looks much like another, except to their own shepherd, of course."

His efforts made the trip pass pleasantly, and when they reached their Headquarters, he sent the pair off home, quite happily, confident that they were both all right again, after the last few stressful days.

Cowley was back in his office early the next morning, scanning swiftly through the items that had landed on his desk when he was absent for a day – too many, he thought crossly.

Then Murphy tapped and entered, bearing a sheet of paper. "I think you'll find this interesting, sir," he began. "We kept up our enquiries about Evans, and this came to light. He has a younger sister, of whom he is very fond. Her name's not Evans, which is why we missed her. It's Milton, as she's married, and widowed too, unfortunately, quite recently, a car accident."

"Interesting in a way," said Cowley, "but of what importance to us."

"She's at present in the maternity ward at her local hospital," replied Murphy, "Having just had a baby boy."

"Who won't know his father, - sad," commented Cowley, "but. . . ."

"It's Evans, sir," continued Murphy. "It's being said, he'll be desperate to see her. So I instigated a discreet watch at the hospital. He hasn't turned up yet. Maybe he thinks it's too public. But she goes home in a day or two, so he may try to see her there. So I'm hoping you'll sanction a 24 hour watch being kept on her house, sir ?"

"A good idea," said Cowley, now that he understood. "Arrange it at once."

"And shall we bring him in immediately, if he turns up ?," asked Murphy.

"No, certainly not," exclaimed his boss vehemently. "Much better to have him followed discretely. He may lead us to Harper's hideout, which is where he's been hiding up till now., and then we can grab the whole gang."

And so a careful watch was set up, day and night. A squad was organised, and held on 'stand-by', ready to move into action at once, should Evans be seen. Bodie and Doyle were lead members of this team, of course. Doyle, back on home ground, had recovered rapidly. A delayed appointment with the doctor got him cleared and back on active duty, with the proviso, that if he experienced severe headaches or double vision, he was to seek help immediately.

Nick Harper was feeling very pleased with himself. The raid on the bank in Cardiff had been very successful financially. It was annoying that they'd run into trouble as they left, because of the unpredictable weather, but he thought they had coped very well. The car they had stolen had not been as big and powerful as the black one, also stolen earlier, but it had driven very well and carried them safely into London, to the hideout he had chosen.

It was a pity they had had to leave Jim Morton behind. But he knew him very well. He wouldn't talk And as soon as he could, he'd do something to help him.

He was very pleased too, with the hideout he had found. He'd heard about this large house, closed up for the winter by its elderly bachelor owner, who had moved with all his staff to a villa in Spain. It was nicely isolated, set back from the road in quite large grounds, with a high wall round most of it. He'd led the rest of his gang there, and they'd settled in well, happy to find a games room with a dartboard and a large snooker –table. It also had a very well-stocked wine cellar. They would be content to stay there quietly, seeing no-one, for quite a while.

Only one gang member worried him. It was Evans, who seemed a bit fidgety and restless. But then, he thought, it was the first raid he'd been on with them, and he was pleased with the share of money he'd been promised. He'll settle down, he decided, putting him out of his mind, as he began to contemplate where their next raid should be, and to start the planning process which he so enjoyed.

Later in the evening, when he'd done all he could do at this stage, he folded away his maps and notebooks, and went through to the big kitchen. As he expected, most of the men were there, getting themselves a bed-time drink of their choice, - something which had become a bit of a ritual over the last few days. But one was missing, Pat Evans.

"Where's Evans ?," Harper enquired.

"He went up to bed early," said one of the men. "Said he wasn't feeling well."

Harper accepted this, made himself some cocoa, and sat talking for a while. Then he left and went up the stairs towards his own room. To reach it he had to pass the bedroom that Evans had chosen. He decided to check on him, to find out if his feeling unwell might cause difficulties. He tapped on the door but got no reply. He tried again but there was still no response. Starting to be concerned, he opened the door and switched on the light. Evans wasn't there, and his bed looked untouched. Perhaps he'd felt sick and gone to the bathroom. Quickly, he checked that, but no, he wasn't there. He ran down the stairs and back into the kitchen.

"I can't find Evans," he exclaimed. "Help me search the house."

The men rose quickly. Harper had impressed on them that on no account was anyone to leave the house. They would all lie low for a while. Between them they looked in every room in the big house, but none of them found the missing man. They reported back to Harper who was beginning to get angry.

"If he's gone AWOL, after all I said, I'll kill him," he yelled. "He could be endangering us all."

His anger turned to fury, when one of the men hurried in to report that he'd found the back door unlocked and the key missing.

If Morton had been there, he would have calmed Harper down, as he knew him well after many years together, but as it was, the other men were rather afraid of their boss's fiery temper.

So when he ordered them all to go off to bed, and declared that he would wait up till Evans returned, they obeyed him quickly and fearfully.

Harper turned off the lights after they had all gone, dragged a chair into the passageway leading to the back door, and sat down to wait.

It was well after midnight before he heard the back door being quietly opened, and saw, lit by the faint moonlight, a figure slipping cautiously back in. He waited till the man had eased the door shut again, and then he snapped on the light in the passage.

Evans stood there, paralysed by the sudden revealing light, but even more so by the angry expression on the face of the man confronting him.

"I can explain . . ," he began feebly.

But before Evans had a chance to begin, the door behind him was suddenly slammed open, and they were no longer alone ! A group of men, in dark clothes and holding guns, swept in and took over.

Evans and Harper were quickly overpowered and held. More men shot past them, some checking the downstairs rooms, and others charging up the stairs, diving into each room in turn.

Before long the entire gang had been seized. Those who had already gone to bed were allowed to dress hurriedly, and then brought down to join the others in the big kitchen, where they were all held under close guard.

An older man stalked into the kitchen and surveyed them all with a look of great satisfaction. He knew it was a good night's work. The Harper gang had come to the end of the road. Several police forces would be very gratified, not least the one in Cardiff.

Several of the men came clattering down the stairs and joined them.

"Look what we found !," said one exultantly. The locked door to Harper's room had been no obstacle, and they had quickly discovered the bags stashed under his bed.

"The money from the Cardiff bank job, I presume ," said Cowley.

"Yes," said Bodie gleefully, "and a tidy sum it is too."

Cowley moved round to face the leader of the gang "Well, Harper," he said, "It's taken us a while, but we have got you bang to rights now,"

Harper scowled. He knew who he was facing, and that the game was well and truly over for him.

"How did you get onto us ?," he snarled.

"Evans left his prints on the wallet he lifted," replied Cowley. "It was left in the car you stole, so we knew he was now one of your lot. And then we heard that he would be desperate to see his little sister and her new baby. So we waited patiently for him to try to visit her, and tonight he obliged.."

"I knew I should never have taken him on," said Harper bitterly.

"Ah, but that wasn't your worst error," said Cowley affably. "You made the mistake of waylaying one of my men."

He indicated Doyle standing with Bodie checking the money.

"You caused him considerable harm," Cowley went on. "And C.I.5 doesn't think much of that kind of behaviour. We look after our own"

. .


End file.
